The sound of metal crashing to the floor was the sound of hell coming to the Photep. Within moments of each other, like some macabre synchronised dance, the World Eaters came aboard the Thousand Sons' flagship. They were ordered to kill everyone aboard except Ahriman, who was to be taken captive. The battle in the regal vessel's corridors began almost immediately, the Rout and the Psyker Legion working side-by-side to cut off the intruders and corral them, corner them, then kill the. It no longer mattered that these were cousins, Astartes, part of a brotherhood that should never have been at odds like this; all that mattered was that they were put down, and put down fast.

Bolter fire racked the corridors, killing World Eater, Thousand Son, and Space Wolf alike. Human warriors were thrown through the air as krak grenades scattered their bodies, far more fragile, to the four winds. Ahriman and his squad stared as a beast, the likes of which they had never seen before, prowled through the corridor before them, the remains of the same human woman that had been so eager to fight within its mouth.

Its skin was crimson, and every psychic attack against it seemed to make it stronger. Ahriman quickly realised that the reason was the collar that grew out of its neck, almost like a Librarian's hood. Its teeth were massive and dripped saliva and blood, its claws caused great rents in the floor as it walked, and it moved with the speed of lightning, faster than almost anyone could react, especially with psychic powers completely shorted. Immediately, it took down Kareem, one of the newly inducted Thousand Sons; he roared in pain which was cut off with a gout of blood as the Flesh Hound bit him in two. The Thousand Sons moved backwards, not sure how to deal with such a monster. Before they could even think of a strategy, Lerasus was taken down, loosing his arm.

A giant shape moved past the Sekhmet and grappled with the beast like it was wrestling a bear. Ahriman heaved a sigh of relief as Odinjagn, one of Bjorn's squad, pried the massive jaws of the beast open and, despite the horrendous wounds on his arms and face, yelled for a grenade. Masala tossed a grenade into the open jaws and, at the last moment, Odinjagn dived out the way. The beast made to move after him, stopped, and then - with an almost comical expression on its face - exploded into large chunks of meat and bone.

Ahriman helped the Space Wolf up and nodded. "My thanks, cousin."

"Damn thing took down three of our Rune Priests, and a bunch of battle-brothers, before Bjorn realised no psychic powers worked against it, no matter the form," Odinjagn explained. "He sent me to warn you that they are all over the vessel and have killed many." Odin shrugged off the aid of Naseen, the present Pavoni; then, remembered his manners, explained himself. "My apologies, Apothecary; there are warriors far more needful of your ministrations."

"That thing could have poisoned you," Naseen concluded. "The moment you feel any different, tell me."

The Space Wolf inclined his head and returned his attention to Ahriman. "They want you."

"They said what?"

"We intercepted a vox transmission, one of our brothers served with the World Eaters once and learned their battle cant; they have orders to leave none alive save you, First Captain."

Ahriman's face set in a grim line and a shadow seemed to cross his face that had the Space Wolf making a ward across his chest. He raised his Hequa Staff above his head and snarled in defiance.

"If they think they can take me, then let them try; but it will not be as a willing lamb to their slaughter. I am Ahzek Ahriman, the First Librarian and First Captain of the Fifteenth Legion, the leader of the Corvidae; I am the eye of fate and the crux of eternity, and shadow's waves break upon my staff. There will be no surrender, of course, and if I am to die here then it will be as a warrior of the true Imperium, not one corrupted by an Emperor who has embraced that which he was defined by denying." His force staff began to glow, and Ahriman clenched it tighter. "Hear me, all Thousand Sons and sons of Russ: let not one of these dogs survive, for honour, for vengeance, and for the Imperial Truth!"

All across the vox, there were roars of affirmation from Thousand Sons and Space Wolves, as well as the humans that remained.

"For Prospero and Fenris; for Magnus and for Russ!" he intoned, never having believed before this battle that he would say such a chant in his life, considering where the Sixth and Fifteenth Legions were relative to one another.

It galvanised the remaining forces, and once more titanic battles were fought along the many corridors of the Photep. Fire was exchanged from deep within her engine room to the bridge, where World Eaters had broken through and were battling the Sekhmet and Rout for control of the bridge. The human bridge crew were dead, cut down by the savage World Eaters, too insane in their own bloodlust to care which of their enemies they were killing. Bjorn and Ahriman fought side by side; around them lay the bodies of World Eaters and their demonic hounds, and every warrior in red and grey realised that both the skalds and the exiled record keepers of Prospero would forever write in the legends of their Legion of how two legends, who had been for many years enemies and mistrusting of each other, cast aside their differences and fought like brothers in arms.

Ahriman raised his bolter and fired, his left arm broken by a World Eater chainaxe whose owner now lay in a pool of his own blood where Bjorn had blown his head off. Ahriman pushed the larger Bjorn down and fired point blank into the face of a World Eater who had gone berserk. That enemy's face was a hideous parody of what he must have once been, and the Librarian believed he could see the implants almost bulging from their seams, as if they were going to burst through.

++ My lord. ++ The voice of Magos Yvelen came across Ahriman's vox link.

++ Make it quick, Priest, I am a little busy. ++ Ahriman fired again, his enhanced physiology flooding pain suppressants to his broken arm, but he had no time to allow it to knit back together, for he was constantly dancing with Bjorn to take out more of the enemy.

It was as if the World Eaters were determined to capture Ahriman above all else; then again, he supposed they dared not return to their father empty handed. Everyone was aware how Angron dealt with those who had failed him in ways that were not excusable.

++ We are ready to resume our journey. ++

++ What are you waiting for? ++ Bjorn yelled. ++ Get us the hell out of here! ++

Ahriman chuckled to himself as he heard the protests of the Magos, who was not happy at how the Space Wolf had spoken to him. With an impatient sigh he cut the Magos off.

++ Magos, as Pack Leader Bjorn so rightly said, get us the hell out of here, NOW! ++

Bjorn heard mighty treadfalls and was about to swear when he saw the magnificent dreadnoughts that stood at each end of the bridge. One wore the livery of the Thousand Sons and he heard Ahriman whisper the name Turolis; the second wore the livery of the Space Wolves, and he whispered the name Krakeijol.

The two dreadnoughts waited until their brothers were out of the way (which took fractions of a moment) and then unleashed their hell upon the pirate-like berserkers that dared to soil the decks of this blessed vessel. Mighty chaingun fire shredded the armour of the World Eaters like it was nothing more then scrap, and giant flamers engulfed the Astartes, lighting their white and blue armour almost to a glowing extent. When it was over, the smell of scorched transhuman flesh was almost unbearable, even to Ahriman and Bjorn. They felt the Photep lurch almost drunkenly as her engines were once more started, and then move away to re-join their fleet.

Ahriman lay on his back, Bjorn beside him; and despite the seriousness of the situation the two Astartes began to laugh, a laugh of victory and relief.

++ We have enchained some of the treacherous dogs, First Captain ++ Turolis informed Ahriman.

Ahriman, too tired to even look up, blipped his acknowledgement and just lay on the deck of his ship, and laughed.

Horus stood, looking down at Magnus. He looked around and pulled a seat over, to sit beside his broken brother's body. He rested a giant hand over Magnus's and remained silent for a while. They had no idea if even Magnus's physiology would heal the damage wrought by Angron, and it was not as if they could ask their father for help. For the first time in his life, Horus felt apologetic for what little mistrust he had expressed regarding Magnus.

His brother had sacrificed his body to defend his sons, his people, and his home; he fought as any Primarch would fight despite losing access to his greatest advantage. There was no doubt he was a true son of the Emperor. Horus lowered his head as Magnus opened his eye.

"Your words never hurt me, Horus," he quietly spoke. "We are warriors, but warriors of a different nature, that is all; and my differences with you never stopped us from being brothers."

Horus raised his head and smiled briefly. "Your warriors are on Kegara. Your legion was dealt a severe blow, Magnus, and I have no right to ask this of you, after all you have endured -"

"You want me to be the one to strike Father down, when the time arrives." It was not a question. Horus nodded.

Each of the Primarchs knew that, if it came to an all-out battle with the Emperor, only Magnus could even hope to beat him on the psychic level. Magnus was silent for a moment or two, almost as if he weighing something up in his mind.

"My body may never heal; but, when it comes to striking Father on the ethereal plane, then I will be the one to do it. Horus."

"Yes, Brother?"

"I want to go to Kegara; I must rest and replenish what strength I have."

"Russ is already making those arrangements," Horus assured him, and a smile crossed his face. "We were all wrong about the Thousand Sons, Crimson King."

Magnus laughed a little. "My sons are warriors, true, but they are also knowledge gatherers. Knowledge is power, Horus, and we will need all that in the coming days."

"The rebellion is gathering speed," Horus observed. "We're calling ourselves the Coalition for the Restoration of the Imperial Truth."

"Iterator-chosen?"

"Indeed."

"That is enough for now, Lupercal, but when we defeat the Emperor - even before, really - mankind will need a new leader." He glanced at his brother. "And there is only one being for that job. The Thousand Sons will pledge their loyalty to Horus Lupercal."

Horus was taken aback; but before he could protest that there were others more able then he (perhaps Guilliman, who already ruled an empire, or Sanguinius), Magnus had closed his eye. Horus got to his feet and bowed his head before walking away. Russ came in just after and sat beside Magnus.

The weary Crimson King opened his eye briefly and met his stoic brother's features, then closed his eye once more and fell into a sleep. Russ took the crimson hand in his and held in the grasp of a warrior; leaning over, he kissed his brothers forehead. He had heard of the battle that Bjorn and Ahriman fought and led, and had experienced the latter's brilliance in the void battle. He leaned close to Magnus's ears and whispered.

"Our sons are true brothers, from now till the end, my brother."

The lights went down, and Leman Russ remained with his brother until they reached the new homeworld of the Thousand Sons.

TO BE CONTINUED in the fourth book of the Renegades saga, The Emperor's Will.